


The Officer and the Gentleman

by crewdlydrawn



Series: The Officer and the Gentleman [1]
Category: Batman (Movies - Nolan)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Blow Jobs, Cop!John, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Riding, Sexual Roleplay, Silly, and ordering content like a meal, how they got together, no mention of Batman, nonlinear, requesting party may have been drunk
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-09
Updated: 2017-09-09
Packaged: 2018-12-25 13:09:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,749
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12036543
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crewdlydrawn/pseuds/crewdlydrawn
Summary: What did one call a billionaire who took an interest in a young cop after he got pulled over in his Jaguar, doing 73 down a back city road?'Bruce Wayne', apparently.





	The Officer and the Gentleman

**Author's Note:**

  * For [thewaynecondition](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thewaynecondition/gifts).



John tugged at his collar, annoyed with the too-tight fit of rented suits.  He supposed they looked better than the too-loose fitting suits, but the annoyance remained.  He was fully aware that the rent hadn’t actually been necessary, that his overly-generous boyfriend could have and _would_ have simply fitted John for a new suit—a tux, no doubt—had he asked or even brought it up, but John wasn’t quite there yet with their relationship. 

What relationship?  “Boyfriend” was the only word John had, and even that wasn’t really well-fitting.  What did one call a billionaire who took an interest in a young cop after he got pulled over in his Jaguar, doing 73 down a back city road?

‘Bruce Wayne’, apparently.

 

 

> “Is there a problem, Officer?”  The slick-greased brown hair greeted him first, through the window, before a confident smile followed.
> 
> “Uh, yeah,” John shot back, stepping up to the door side, one hand resting on the open window frame, the other on his holster, for effect.  It was rare to actually discharge the weapon, but he found just making its presence known was enough.  “License and registration, please.”
> 
> Maybe the voice and the car should have given it away, but it wasn’t until John held the license in his hand, staring at the matching face, that it hit him.  “…Bruce Wayne.”
> 
> The teeth that flashed him had to be worth more than John’s entire salary.  “That’s right, Officer…” a squint and a crane of his neck brought Wayne’s head closer, breaking the plane of the doorframe, “…Blake.”
> 
> “Do you know why I pulled you over, Mr. Wayne?” 
> 
> Both arms draped over the doorframe, Wayne leaned his head to the side, feigning a moment of thought.  “I suppose I was going a little faster than I should have been.”
> 
> “Sir, you were doing thirty miles over.  That’s a pretty steep ticket,” after the raised brow, he changed tactics, “and it’s also pretty damn dangerous.”
> 
> Pursed lips at least showed that the man agreed.  He had to, from all John knew of his actual character, from what he’d seen behind the façade in the past.  “That’s a fair point,” Wayne allowed, though his eyes had travelled downward from meeting John’s, looking the whole of him over—and slowly.  “So, what do we do about this?”
> 
> “Uh…”  Thrown off by the brazen attitude, even from someone in Wayne’s position, John took a moment before collecting himself.  “Well, now you get a ticket, but I’m hoping that I don’t have to stop you again, tonight, or at all.”
> 
> “I certainly wouldn’t mind you stopping me again, Officer Blake.”
> 
> “Sir, I’m not sure you’re aware, but trying to get out of a ticket like this isn’t really—” he stopped as Wayne held up a hand.
> 
> “I’m not,” he explained.  “Please,” the hand made a rolling gesture, “write the ticket; I wouldn’t want to get in the way of your position.  I’m only saying that seeing you again certainly wouldn’t be a _bad_ thing.”
> 
> He’d written the ticket—nearly two hundred dollars, which, while a lot of money to someone like Blake, was a drop in a very large bucket to Wayne. 
> 
> While he hadn’t seen Wayne again that same night, the very next shift he took had him flashing down another, completely different expensive car with the same driver, wearing the same smug grin, taking his ticket and that time exchanging it for a card slipped into John’s hand.  “If you ever need anything,” came the excuse.

A strong hand clasped John’s, bringing him out of a moment’s memory.

“Heckuva job you boys do,” a thick-throated voice offered as their hands shook.  “Glad to call you ours.”

“All due respect, Mr. Carlisle,” John countered as smoothly as he could, offering his most respectful smile, “I suppose it’s ‘boys and girls’, or just ‘officers’, really.”  The correction got him a chuckle, a pat to his shoulder, and an end to the conversation, but he felt better about his side, at least. 

Half a dozen more handshakes and impersonal exchanges got John to a table with food—the miniature, fancy kind that wouldn’t actually fill a stomach without its owner taking an awkwardly large amount at a time—and, for which he was grateful, drinks.  With a champagne flute in his hand, bitter bubbles rudely travelling up his nose, he found a space closer to the wall to wait for the night’s main presentation.

 

 

> Even if he’d considered it, played with it between his fingers more than a dozen times since acquiring it, John hadn’t even gotten the chance to use the card Wayne had given him from the car.  Instead, he’d shown up in front of the precinct, a third fancy car parked at the curb with Wayne leaning against it like something out of an 80s teen movie.  The sight had been enough to make John laugh out loud, even after a tiring shift.
> 
> “Need a ride?” came the smooth-voiced offer, accompanied by a pat to the sleek black chassis of the Ferrari behind his frame. 
> 
> Of course, the short answer was ‘no’, since despite not owning a vehicle of his own, John made do just fine through public transportation.  The question, however, hadn’t really been about actual necessity, and John knew that well enough.
> 
> “You’re offering?” he shot back, stepping across the empty sidewalk closer to the car, and to Wayne.  If his shift had ended earlier—or a good bit later—there would likely have been a crowd staring at Wayne, but the street was thankfully quieter.
> 
> Wayne spread his hands.  “I figure I’ve caused you enough trouble, so maybe it’s time to… give back, a little.”
> 
> “Give _back_?”  John shook his head, amused.  “Do you always try to give back to the community one person at a time?”
> 
> A strange expression crossed Wayne’s face for a moment, then he flashed a wide smile, pushing off from the car to walk around towards the driver’s side door.  “Pretty much.  You in?”
> 
> It wasn’t a difficult decision, really.  The ride was short, conversation similar to the banter Wayne had been making, but it ended with an invitation.
> 
> “Have dinner with me.”
> 
> “Is that a request,” John asked, watching his apartment building grow in the windshield view as they approached, “or a direction?”
> 
> Wayne merely chuckled as he set the car’s parking brake, unlocking the doors.  Considering it for a moment, both for the once-in-a-lifetime offer it was, and for the obvious attraction he had for the man, that he’d had for a long while, just from a greater distance, John at last took out the card he’d been given, having already copied the number into his phone just in case, and wrote his own on the back, handing it over between two fingers.
> 
> “Thanks for the ride,” he nodded, getting out of the car before Wayne could get the last word.

As benefit functions went, that night was fairly average.  Gotham’s elite kept to themselves after making a show of meet-and-greet with their donation recipients, and each faction of police and service groups rounded themselves up, as well, letting John fade quietly towards the background while the commissioner made his way up to the stage, followed by the mayor.  John wasn’t certain who intended to introduce whom once they began their speeches in front of the microphone, but didn’t intend to stick around and listen to all of the pomp and circumstance, either way.

He had a meeting of his own to get to.

 

 

> It was the third date, if the first two could be called dates, that they first kissed.  Public outings hadn’t seemed an option, and either of their homes a bit too personal to start out on, so they stuck to driving, to loitering in parks that had closed to the public at sundown, hours before their arrival. 
> 
> On one such bench, with John’s attention stolen almost completely by the towering lights of Gotham’s business district, Bruce had turned his chin, lips over John’s in one smooth motion, yet with a lightness of touch that would have allowed him an easy escape, had he wished.
> 
> “That an okay speed for you, Officer?”  Lips barely parted, Bruce’s breath puffed against John’s skin with the words, and though he couldn’t _see_ the smirk, it was clear in his voice.
> 
> Dents deepening into his cheeks, John controlled the smile and laugh that threatened to lose him the moment, as well as the tease.  “Seems you’re within the legal limits, at the moment, Mr. Wayne.”
> 
> “Oh good.”
> 
> One kiss turned to two, and John quickly, purposefully, lost count.
> 
> Barely a week passed before John ended up in a penthouse apartment, a middle-ground agreement of sorts to balance privacy with pragmatism.  Bruce had requested his arrival include his uniform, though John had tossed a coat over it to avoid excess attention on his way over.  A buzz and a button push on the upstairs end led the building’s elevator to the rooftop floor, and the open doors led John out to quiet music reaching from the first open room—Barry Manilow.  Shaking his head with a grin, John slid the coat from his shoulders, laying it over a chair on his way to the middle of the dimly lit space.  “Bruce?”
> 
> “I’m afraid there’s been some trouble, Officer,” spoke a smooth, playful tone from behind John.  “You might even need to take me in.”
> 
> Eyebrows raised momentarily, he turned to find Bruce seated in a lounge chair, swirling a short glass of some sort of liquor.  “You’re not drunk, I hope.”
> 
> Standing, taking only a small swallow before making an exaggerated show of setting the glass down, Bruce hummed.  “Well, that depends, Officer,” John’s blood rushed faster each time the word was used in conjunction with the lowered lids on Bruce’s eyes, “will it go better or worse for me, if I am?”
> 
> Despite the question, John could easily tell that Bruce was far from being under the influence.  A game.  Taking a breath, John squared his shoulders, hooking his thumbs beneath his belt.  “Sir, if you’ve been drinking, in a public place like this,” tilting his shoulders, John made like he was surveying their surroundings, “I’m afraid I’m going to have to take you downtown.”
> 
> “Down _town_?”  Bruce stepped forward, closing the space between them, his voice quieter, barely audible above the music.  “Officer…” he made a show of leaning in, touching John’s name plate with a small push of his finger, “… _Blake_ , I’m sure there must be _something_ I can do to help this whole thing go away?”  That same finger travelled down the line of buttons on John’s shirt, to his waist, tapping gently over his groin.
> 
> Breath hitching without his permission, John swallowed, hazel eyes rising to meet his with a lurid wink.  “I, uh.” Swallowing again, he reminded himself to keep up the game.  “Are you trying to bribe an officer of the law, Mr. Wayne?”  He let his voice turn stern this time, moving Bruce’s hand away but not letting it go once it was in his grasp.
> 
> Clever, nimble fingers curled around John’s, even as Bruce’s other hand grabbed up his shirt, tugging him close.  Bruce’s mouth covered his, lips immediately parted, tongue sliding deeply alongside John’s before he pulled back again.  “That depends,” Bruce nearly whispered, “is it working?”
> 
> If the tight feeling in John’s pants was any indication, “Yes.”
> 
> A much more sincere grin spread over Bruce’s face.  “Well then, I hope this doesn’t count as assaulting a police officer…”  Before John could even reply to the banter, an outstretched palm to his chest had hI'm pushed backward, stumbling a couple of steps and landing seated on one of the short couches opposite where Bruce had been, initially. 
> 
> John couldn’t help a laugh bubbling out of him as he hit the cushion, though it fairly died off at the sight of Bruce kneeling in front of him, hands braced on John’s thighs.  “Go ahead,” he permitted, while one hand reached for the fastening of his pants, “assault away.”
> 
> Bruce needed no other encouragement, popping the button and zipping John’s pants open, a hand slipped beneath the material in the same smooth motion.  Well-practiced.  Air caught in John’s throat as deft fingers wrapped around his shaft, guiding it out of his shorts.  “I should make sure I don’t talk back, shouldn’t I?”  The question was accompanied by a flick of Bruce’s tongue over his lips, and John nodded quickly, shifting on the couch cushion.
> 
> He had zero time to prepare for the press of warm lips against his skin, for a wet tongue lighting his nerves on fire.  Bruce stayed close, one hand supporting John’s cock, guiding it into his mouth, the other sliding beneath John’s shirt, fingertips brushing and skittering over the skin of his stomach.  It tickled, and he couldn’t stay still, but Bruce didn’t seem to care, alternating between that and firm strokes to John’s side.
> 
> Between the two combatting sensations, John couldn’t get his breath back at all, working for it all the way until he tumbled over the edge.  Warning Bruce didn’t make him move, and John shot off into his mouth, swallowed down with a satisfied smirk. 

“Ladies and gentlemen, Commissioner Gordon!”  With the mayor stepping aside, Gordon made his way towards the microphone at the center of the raised stage space. 

Joining the applause, John made sure that everyone’s attentions were focused forward before he ducked back through the side doors that led to an access hallway.  He closed the door silently, keeping himself away from the hotel’s main lobby and out of the sight of anyone attending the event.  In his pocket was a key card, one that had been slipped into his pocket at the beginning of the night.  Granted, they were both consenting adults, and a hotel room was an easy thing to book whenever they wanted, but being seen going into or out of that hotel on a random occasion tended to come with scrutiny when one of those adults was Bruce Wayne.

Tiny tendrils of thrill ran through John’s nerves on the way upstairs, all the way to the seventh floor.  Room 749.  Pausing only a moment at the door, he dipped the card into the reader on the handle and slipped inside.

No music this time, no tease of old movies playing on the TV of the penthouse apartment.  Instead, John was nearly tackled the moment he stepped inside, his back pressed against the wall beside the door, nearly knocking a framed painting off of its hooks with the impact.  A kiss just as rough as the move stole any words of complaint he might have had at first, Bruce’s hips grinding closely against John’s, fingers tugging the hair at the nape of his neck.  He hissed, drawing his head back and rolling his eyes at the self-satisfied glint in Bruce’s eyes.

“Proud of yourself, are you?”

Bruce smirked to one side.  “Not yet.”

“Not ye—?”  Before he could get to the last sound, his voice was stolen by an entirely undignified squeak.  Two hands solidly grasped him by the ass, lifting his feet off of the floor.  Thighs cinching around Bruce’s waist, John gave him a disapproving look despite draping his arms over his shoulders.  “Rude, Mr. Wayne.”

Chuckling, Bruce carried him away from the wall, walking towards the bedroom of the suite.  “You really want to start that sort of talk today, _Officer_?”

“ _Detective_ , thank you.”

Bruce hummed at the correction, depositing John unceremoniously onto the thick mattress.  “My apologies, of course, _Detective_ Blake.”  The words were spoken with care to distinguish them, but also with a clear measure of pride in his tone.

“Better,” John grinned, climbing to his knees and tugging Bruce closer by his tie to claim his mouth again.  It worked, and then got him pushed backward, Bruce over him, pinning him down.  Struggling got his shoulders pushed at, and he pulled his lips away.  “Let me take this off, first,” he tugged at his jacket, “it’s a rental, _and_ it’ll look a lot more awkward going back if this is wrinkled and rumpled.”

With an exaggerated sigh, Bruce pinched John’s lip between his teeth, loosening his hold.  Even with a bitten lip, the second he was able, John pitched them in a roll, straddling Bruce’s hips with _his_ back against the mattress.  Shucking the suit jacket and loosening his tie, John had to chuckle at the surprised look on Bruce’s face.  “ _You_ , however, no one will question about a suit that looks like you just romped around a hotel room.”

“Should I be offended by that?”

“ _Are_ you offended by that?”

With absolutely no hesitation, Bruce shrugged.  “Eh.”  His attention sharpened the second John started to lift the circle of his tie over his head, grabbing the end of its tail to stop the motion.  “No, leave this on.”  The grasp remained firm, with just enough give to let John unbutton and slide off his shirt, barely enough—with a tug from John—to allow him to slide out of his pants and boxers.

“How do you want to be?”  Bruce’s tone was distracted, his eyes glued to John’s body, particularly where that body met his own frame.

Humming a thoughtful noise, John feigned consideration, shifting his weight as he did, watching the shudders he earned from beneath him.  “I want _you_ right there,” he began, tugging at Bruce’s belt, “under me.”

Palms slid over John’s sides, up towards his chest, the tie draped between strong fingers.  Strong fingers tugged down, dragging John by his neck, until his lips were in reach of Bruce’s.  Leaned over, balancing his hand on Bruce’s shoulder, John opened up Bruce’s pants, tightening his knees to get leverage to shove them just far enough down his hips.

“Nothing else, today?”  John chuckled, his fingers meeting warm skin right away.

“Wastes time.”

With an eyeroll, John shut Bruce up with a firm grasp to his shaft, fingers alternating their pressure, his thumb flicking over its tip and gleaning a gasp from its owner.  “No wasting time, then.”  With another pair of strokes, John reached to the side, tugging a handful of pouches from his pants pocket.  Tearing one with his teeth, he winked at Bruce and rolled the condom down his length.  In return, his ass was smacked. 

“You need a hand?”

“Seems I’ve got one, already,” John mused, though he ignored the slap and the question’s intent.  Flattening his body, he lay out over Bruce, his dick nestled beside Bruce’s, tearing a different packet with his teeth.  Lips occupied with an eager set below them, shivering already with skin contact and the rough drag of suit material, John stretched his hand back, stroking two fingers over his own entrance, slicking first the outer rim and then easing them inside.  Panted breath made it more difficult to concentrate on kissing Bruce _and_ lubing himself up, but he managed, biting down firmly on Bruce’s lip in reprimand for another sound slap to his ass.

“You look good like that, Detective,” Bruce teased, having ripped open a second packet of lube, splitting its contents between his hands.  The first served to slick over his shaft, the second pushing at John’s fingers, the tie forgotten in his effort to slip into John.  “You’d look even better—”

“—On your dick, I know.”  John’s eyes rolled.  A swift set of adjustments fixed that problem, and John’s mouth fell open as he eased himself down onto Bruce’s cock.  Tie tail back in Bruce’s grip, John tugged it taut by leaning his head back, his hips rolling forward.  Shudders ran through him, in no small part due to the friction and pressure at his neck.  No reservations were held on Bruce’s end about yanking.  John was sure to have red lines from the burn of friction, later, but for the rest of the night the skin would thankfully hide behind his collar.

“You close?”  Bruce’s voice lacked air, words travelling along guttural sounds as his stomach dipped beneath John’s fingers.

“Not yet, but you could _help_ with that.”  Grabbing up one of Bruce’s hands, still in motion, John maneuvered it to his own cock, encouragingly, grinning as his grip settled.  “Good… work it,” he directed, while working, himself.  Timing his hips with the pulse of Bruce’s grasp, John rocked faster, concentrating on grinding his bottom against Bruce’s hips with each fall.  Closing his eyes, he focused on the two—the full, stretching slide behind him, and the firm, squeezing grasp in front.  With the timing right, the sensations built, rising as a flush over his skin, and he had to tense his thighs tight, shivering, to stay in place.

A sharp tug came through the tie, John rewarded for opening his eyes by a particularly rough squeeze and pull to his length, as if drawing his orgasm through his body, straight into Bruce’s hand as he shuddered.  Beneath him, strong hips bucked upward, in contrast to the slow and steady rhythm that had merely matched John’s movements, so far. 

“C’mon,” John encouraged, air barely obeying his lungs just yet.  Sparks lit up his body, nearly unpleasantly, as he rocked faster, leaning backward and grinding down.  “C’mon!”  He tensed every muscle then, his body seized upon Bruce, clamping down.

It was enough, and Bruce’s hips rose sharply, hands digging well-manicured fingernails into John’s thighs to keep them close.  Waiting for the shudders below him to subside, John smiled, playfully poking at Bruce’s nipples through his shirt, making him retract his hands to bat at John’s.

“None of that,” he admonished, only to tug the tie all the way down, bringing John’s face within a breath of his own.

“Oh, but _that’s_ okay?”  John rolled his eyes, but kissed him anyway, his breath slowly returning to normal only to be stolen once again.

“Alright, Detective,” Bruce spoke as he let go, patting John’s ass with a relaxed smile.  “We have a party to get to.”

“You booked the room for the night, right?” John called over his shoulder as he dressed, once they’d cleaned up.

That relaxed smile turned to a smirk rather quickly.  “Of course.”

“Good.”  Readjusting the tie to once again settle about his shirt collar, John sent a dimpled smirk of his own Bruce’s way.  “You can ride me, later, then.”

With a wink, not waiting for a reply, John left the room to head back downstairs.


End file.
